The golden nurslings of the May In splendor strew the spangled green, And hues of tender beauty play, Entangled where the willows lean. Mark how the rippled currents flow; Who told us that the years had fled, Or borne afar our blissful youth? Such joys are all about us spread, We know the whisper was not truth. The birds that break from grass and grove O fresh-lit dawn! immortal life! O Earth's betrothal, sweet and true, With whose delights our souls are rife, And aye their vernal vows renew! Then, darling, walk with me this morn; Let your brown tresses drink its sheen; These violets, within them worn, Of floral fays shall make you queen. What though there comes a time of pain When autumn winds forbode decay? The days of love are born again; That fabled time is far away! And never seemed the land so fair EDMUND CLARENCE STEDMAN. THE STORY OF A SUMMER DAY. O PERFECT Light, which shaid away And set a ruler o'er the day, Thy glory, when the day forth flies, Than at midday unto our eyes The shadow of the earth anon Which soon perceive the little larks, Our hemisphere is polished clean, And lightened more and more; While everything is clearly seen, Which seeméd dim before; Except the glistering astres bright, The golden globe incontinent For joy the birds with boulden throats In woods and gardens green. The dew upon the tender crops, Refreshes all the ground. The misty reek, the clouds of rain From tops of mountains skails, Clear are the highest hills and plain, The vapors take the vales. |